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Christmas Day was supposed to be full of endless chatter, unbridled joy and most importantly good food. That had been Bobby’s intention when he extended an invitation for Christmas dinner at his house to his fire family. They had scored the big day to themselves for once and he wanted to celebrate it, to celebrate them, in the only way he knew how: by cooking. Buck may have been crowned the baking king – mainly because there was no one around who dared to usurp him – but Bobby had always ruled over the kitchen. It was his domain, his happy place, and if there was one thing he knew how to do it was cook.
And yet, here he was, in a burnt apron standing at the head of a table with nothing to show for the hours he’d spent prepping but utter despair. There was, he supposed, the stain in his and Athena’s new carpet too. And the wrist support Eddie fiddled with, a not-so-festive fashion accessory that clashed with the clothes he’d borrowed from Bobby. Buck rocked obsessively at his side. Chim’s eyes were a lovely shade of red as he rubbed incessantly at them, whining when his wife pulled his hand away. Their daughter whined too, pitifully curled up on the couch and on Mara’s thigh that had cost Bobby and Athena a pretty penny and would now need to be dry cleaned along with the carpet. Jee-Yun’s head jostled when Mara burped, her eyes widening in panic as she clapped a hand over her mouth. The room waited with bated breath. Mara lowered her hand in relief. Karen rubbed soothingly at her shoulders from where she perched on the couch’s arm. Denny and Chris hardly looked up from their handheld games. Bobby sighed. Where had it all gone wrong?
Christmas Day: 11am.
Bobby had gone to check that his turkey was defrosting before he’d even fixed his beloved wife a cup of coffee and wished her a Merry Christmas. It had since been placed in the oven ahead of his guests’ arrival. He was sure that he’d turned on the oven, swore down that he heard the classic hum of it coming to life, but it was Buck – who had dragged Eddie and Chris over hours before the others to help Bobby prepare the dinner – that pointed out that he had, in fact, not.
“Don’t be silly, Buck – of course I turned on the oven.” Bobby swatted his pseudo son and the blasted clipboard he’d brought with him away, gesturing toward the oven which was… off. “No,” Bobby hissed. “No, no, no.”
“That’s what I said when I saw the clipboard,” Eddie joked, narrowly avoiding being hit with the thing. He was smiling though. Everyone knew damn well how much he enjoyed the clipboard, especially Buck who accepted his apologetic kiss on the cheek.
Athena had followed Eddie into the kitchen, their wine glasses in hand. Though Buck had pointed out that it was a little early, Athena had bit back with the fact that it was Christmas and five o’clock somewhere. She poured she and Eddie another glass of red, pursing her lips at the anguish on her husband’s face.
“It’s alright. We’ll just eat later.” Athena immediately regretted it, shying away from the pointed stares of Bobby and Buck. They might not have been biologically related, but nurture sure played a great part in their mannerisms. Buck landed a heavy finger against his clipboard, the timestamps clearly pasted next to their associated task.
“But we planned dinner for three,” Buck insisted.
“And so it will be closer to five,” Eddie soothed. “We can eat candy until then.” Buck’s pout grew no less pronounced.
“But the presents are supposed to be opened then.”
Eddie rolled his eyes. Buck had brought a lot of presents with them and had been giddy about every single one he’d bought this year. Eddie had had to sign off on the battery-controlled convertible car he’d bought for Jee which he was glad was no longer dominating their living room, now holding court in Bobby and Athena’s, but for the most part he’d managed to keep his other purchases to himself. Apparently, a few hours more would cause him to burst. Eddie met Athena’s eyes over her and Bobby’s new kitchen island.
“Well, how about we open one present now?” She offered. Buck’s mouth parted, likely to protest, but Bobby waved them all away.
“Yeah, sure – go open your presents. I’ll sort this.” Athena rolled her eyes, dragging her husband from the oven he was staring intently at.
“You too, Bobby – c’mon. The oven is on. You and Buck can return to your kingdom shortly.”
Chris grunted at the news he’d get to open a present early, though he at least put his phone away to receive it. His interest only furthered when he revealed a chess strategy book, Eddie and Buck looking to each other in wonder when he bothered to stand and hug his all-but-biological grandparents. His interest in the festivities was lost shortly thereafter, nose now buried in his book. Athena laughed at Eddie’s look of disappointment.
“At least it’s not his phone,” she nudged. Eddie shrugged. He thanked her for the bottle of wine she’d gifted him, sticking his tongue out at the roll of Buck’s eyes when she opened its twin from him. He wondered if they’d be open before the rest of their wine club arrived. When it came to Buck and Bobby, he and Athena had joined forces. They made Bobby open his first, the man still chancing furtive glances at the kitchen as though it was about to blow up. He was looking away when he unsheathed the gift from its casing, his mumble of thanks causing Athena to scoff.
“You’re not even looking,” she chastised.
So Bobby did, laughing at the bright red apron in his hands.
“Do all head chefs normally screw up at the first hurdle?” Bobby half-joked, though he discarded the apron he had been wearing in favour of his new one instead. He smoothed his hands down the front, feeling the plastic of the holly printed above his title.
“Shut up. Buck, your turn.” Athena nudged at Buck with her foot. He made a show of feeling the present, bringing it to his ear and shaking. Athena clicked her tongue. “Hurry up, you’ve got a dinner to make, remember?” Buck was tearing into it almost immediately. Athena and Eddie shared a smug look across their wine glasses as Buck revealed his gift: the twin to Bobby’s own apron, only instead of head chef it said-
“Sous chef? Really?” But Buck was grinning and the apron was on immediately. He shuffled back to his boyfriend so that he could tie it for him, the strings too short to wrap around his waist as Bobby had. Finally smiling again, Bobby gestured toward the kitchen with his head.
“C’mon, sous chef. Let’s get this dinner back on track.”
Still Christmas Day: 12pm.
Hen, Chim and their respective families had arrived not long after. Athena and Eddie had not, in fact, made it to their next bottle of wine but it sure was opened to accommodate Hen, Maddie and Karen. Chim, not wanting to be left out, had insisted on having a glass too. Athena gave it to him in one of the regular glasses within her repertoire. She, Eddie, Karen, Hen and Maddie each had their drinks in a glass rimmed in gold and adorned with their initial as per wine club tradition. There was another M, but May was with her father and Harry this Christmas. Chim asked after it, only to receive a resounding no. He was denied even Josh’s glass. Chim pouted and made to join Buck and Bobby in the kitchen but had hardly crossed his toe over the threshold before he was banished.
“Fine,” he huffed to no one. “I’ll join the kids.” Except the kids were in their own worlds, Denny and Chris playing each other on a game on their phones and Mara and Jee midway through a reenactment of Harry Potter. When Chim tried to come in as Voldemort he was fixed with blank stares. He resigned himself to joining the wine club once more, only a little hurt that the subject seemed to change when he sat down.
In the kitchen, Buck and Bobby worked as one to prep the rest of the Christmas dinner. Buck formed stuffing balls with his hands, unbothered by the heat of the scalding water. Bobby was working on the potatoes, intending to serve them both mashed and roasted. Endless peeled carrots sat waiting upon the countertop, alongside green beans and broccoli and many more vegetables he expected to be left wilting on the younger attendees’ plates. A timer dinged from Buck’s phone. He and Bobby turned to the oven as one, walking toward it at the same pace. Buck’s elbow bumped a Tupperware of what he presumed salt, catching it before he fell.
“Better be careful,” he told Bobby as he moved the Tupperware to somewhere he deemed safer. He held out his hands for the tray of pigs in blankets he and Bobby intended to serve as appetizers, guilt already overcoming them both at the thought of dinner being just slightly delayed. Buck quickly plated them, leaving Bobby to baste the turkey. He had pre-cooked a joint of ham last night and it lay in wait on the side, foil peeled open for Buck insisted on taste testing it for quality.
Buck beamed at the cheers he received for delivering the beginnings of food, offering the plate first to the children. Jee-Yun took one only after Mara did, taking a bite seconds after she did too. Buck could tell by her face the sausage wrapped in pastry was not quite to her taste, but she swallowed it all the same because Mara seemed to enjoy it just so. When her friend took another, Jee-Yun shook her head. Denny thanked Buck as he took his own. Chris batted him away, ignoring the stern call of his name from his father. Though Eddie cared less when Buck came by with the goods, coveting it before any of his friends could get a hand on them. Buck flicked at his face, feeling the heat of the alcohol in Eddie’s cheeks.
“Any chance for a top up, Buckley?” Chim held aloft his glass. While the others had slowed down their sips somewhat, too busy talking, Chim had downed his.
“Get it yourself,” Buck bit back before returning to the kitchen.
He hummed as he reached for his clipboard, disturbing the tupperware once more. Bobby hardly spared him a glance as he worked on the rest of their dinner’s trimmings, mumbling his acknowledgement when Buck ran over what they had already achieved and what was to come. Placing his pen between his teeth, Buck scanned the list to ensure they were still on track for their amended dinner time. Catching a note he’d made about the gravy, Buck turned to the fridge. The motion caused the tupperware container to finally fall, spilling its contents all over Bobby’s pristine floor.
“Oh no,” Buck gasped. It looked to him like salt, and they all knew what it meant when one spilt salt. Bobby’s eyes widened at the mess. “I-I’ve got this.” Buck bent down and scooped some into his hand, haphazardly throwing it over his shoulder.
Chimney’s cry of pain was loud and unexpected. Buck leapt back as Chimney dropped his glass, the shards splintering across the mess he’d already made. He was sure that he saw some of them fly into the exposed ham. On closer inspection, he was right. Buck wasn’t sure what to save first – dinner or Chimney? Bobby dove for the ham just as Buck reached for his brother in law, wincing when some of the glass shards found their way through his festive sock.
“Everything alright in there?” Athena called, though she still sounded very much content to stay seated.
“Uh, no,” Bobby confessed. He frowned down at his ham and knew then it was ruined. Just turkey it was. Buck gave a cry of anguish when Bobby threw it straight into the trash.
The world’s longest Christmas Day: 2:15pm.
“I’m so, so, so, so sorry,” Buck said to Chimney for the thousandth time. Daring to take the cloth pressed to his eye away for just a second, Chimney fixed him with the best reassuring stare he could muster.
“It’s fine, Buck. Honestly, I’m fine.” Still, Buck pouted. He wrung his hands together and glanced toward the kitchen, a place he’d been all-but-banned from now. Even his beloved clipboard had been banished, being kicked aside by Jee and Mara as they ran rampant around the Grant-Nash home. Wrappers and wrappers of candy flew up with their steps. Athena, more than a little wine drunk now, nodded toward Chim.
“At least it wasn’t one of the good glasses.”
“Not the point, ‘thena,” Maddie defended her husband. She rubbed soothing circles along his back, though she did wink at Athena to let her know that secretly she agreed.
Glad to have his boyfriend back in his sight, and perhaps just as tipsy as Athena, Eddie wrapped himself around Buck like a koala. Buck breathed heavily through his nose in a show of annoyance but leaned back into it all the same, seeking the familiar comfort as he listened to Bobby curse to himself in the kitchen. He longed to go and join him, the title of ‘sous chef’ feeling like it was burning in his chest. Buck could almost smell it, even. His nose twitched.
“Hey guys,” Chimney said slowly. “Do you smell that too or has whatever got in my eye caused me to have a stroke?” It would not be the wildest thing to have happened to any member of the 118 seated in the room and though Hen leapt to her feet to look for signs of one occurring, it was unlikely to be a group phenomenon.
“No, no stroke.” Buck shrugged his boyfriend from his shoulders. “That’s burning.” The screech of the fire alarm only confirmed it.
Athena rushed to the kitchen only to find Bobby stood, frozen and bewildered, in front of a burning pot. She screamed his name as she yanked their home fire extinguisher from its spot – something her husband had insisted on, despite her joking that he’d never do something as stupid as burn down the kitchen, was simply incapable of such a silly mistake. She was grateful for his insistence now as she shoved him aside, ignoring all the firefighters on the premises and slightly emboldened by all the wine she had downed throughout the day. She breathed heavily as the flames began to dampen, dropping the extinguisher to the side to stare at her husband.
“Bobby,” she yelled. “We’ve only just got this kitchen. Why the hell you trying to burn it to the ground?”
“I-I-” Bobby clung to his precious oven, panicking when he pulled at the handle and let some of the precious heat out. It was not time to baste the turkey again, not yet.
“I’ve cursed him,” Buck whined from the doorway. “I’ve ruined Christmas.”
Bobby’s eyes narrowed at him. Yes, that had to be it – he had never in his life burnt food. Bobby didn’t burn things, not ever – except, well, that one apartment complex that had destabilised his life for years. But food? Never. Until Buck had poured all that salt on the floor and ruined everything. Athena groaned at them both, dragging a hand down her face.
“Don’t be stupid, Buck. Curses don’t exist.” She turned to her husband, expecting him to back her up but finding him pointing angrily in his mentee’s direction. The action had Buck only spiralling further, phone in hand as he desperately searched for a way to end the curse. “Robert Nash, you are not being serious right now. There is no curse.” The words had barely left her mouth before they heard a thud, followed by a very weak ‘ow’. Buck’s eyes widened in alarm, his phone abandoned and screen splintering upon impact to the floor as he scrambled back out into the living area with only one name on his lips: Eddie.
The ‘Cursed’ Christmas Day: 3pm
Eddie stared up at the ceiling, not daring to move. One second he had been upright, the next he was here. On his back. Laying in a pool of toddler sick. He winced at the wet slap of his boyfriend’s feet as he rushed to his side, reaching for the hem of his soiled apron only to cry out in pain. Somewhere in his fall he’d reached backwards to save himself and only served to crush his wrist. Buck huffed when Hen pushed him aside, gently easing Eddie upright and out of the mess.
“Slowly, slowly, Eddie,” Hen said softly. She winced in sympathy as she moved his wrist for him, gently pressing at the tender skin there. For his part, Buck hovered uselessly around her. “I don’t think it’s broken,” she told the sea of faces that had formed above her. “Just a sprain.” She rolled her eyes affectionately at Buck’s overdramatic sigh. Athena rushed to hers and Bobby’s extensive medicine cabinet – it never hurt to be prepared, as evidenced by their extinguisher... and lord knew they needed the medicine cabinet more – for the wrist support she knew she kept. After walking with a limp for a while, Athena had come to be grateful for such medical inventions.
Standing in the doorway to the kitchen like a spectre from a horror movie, and as white as one too, Bobby pressed a shaking hand to his heart.
“It’s the curse,” he said barely above a whisper. “The curse has ruined my dinner. All that hard work, for nothing.” Hen, who had helped Eddie to his feet and was in earshot of Buck’s panicked mumbling of it’s all my fault had had enough. She gestured around the room to Chim, eyes still red, to Maddie, desperately trying to soothe her shaken up little girl, toward the hallway where her wife could be heard speaking calmly to Mara as she too emptied hours' worth of candy, to Buck near tears beside his wounded boyfriend, and to Denny and Chris who were, admittedly, alright. In fact, their heads were knocked together as they considered whether it was worth uploading the video of Eddie’s fall to TikTok considering its imminent ban or to Instagram reels only. Athena snatched both their phones in one fell swoop on her way to hand Eddie his wrist support.
“Nevermind your dinner, Cap – that can be saved. I think we have more pressing manners.”
Bobby pulled in a great breath. Yes, Hen was right – dinner could be saved. A clatter from inside, likely one of his pans warping under the stress of being used so badly, saw him racing back to the kitchen to the chorus of his family’s groans. His guests may be a mess, but dinner wouldn’t be, curse or no curse. If there was one thing Bobby Nash knew how to do, it was cook.
The end of Bobby’s tether: 5pm.
Yet he was no match for an age-old wives’ tale, certainly not one as strong as salt. He cursed Buck once more as he surveyed the damage. The turkey he’d slaved over all afternoon? Dry. So, very, very dry. So dry, in fact, that there were no extra juices for his gravy. They were burnt into a roasting tin that had once been his pride and joy. The ham? Still in the trash. His potatoes? Too sloppy now to even make decent mash. One lone pig in blanket stared up at him from the serving tray. Bobby couldn’t even look at it anymore. He rushed back to the living area and found his family waiting. The carpet and couch were stained, his apron burnt, his wife seething. Buck was rocking obsessively, his boyfriend glumly looking at his not-so-festive fashion accessory, while Chimney rubbed at his eyes. Maddie fought to soothe both her husband and her daughter, while Mara fought to keep from throwing up again. Denny and Chris had been given back their phones, sans the video of Eddie falling, and hardly noticed Bobby’s return.
“Well, don’t you have something you’d like to say?” Hen stared pointedly down at Buck.
“Yes,” Bobby agreed. “I’m never letting Buck in my kitchen again.” He was immune to the pitiful cry the man let out; chin turned away from the sad scene of Eddie using his good arm to cuddle him closer. Hen crossed her arms against her chest. Athena scoffed.
“Bobby, c’mon - that’s not fair. It could have happened to anyone.” Bobby clicked his tongue. It could happen to anyone but him. “Bobby. It’s Christmas, and we all know you won’t stay mad at Buck forever. So hurry up and get over it so we can have some Christmas cheer again.” And hadn’t that been what this was all about? An excuse to let the year go and take time away from the disaster they faced on the daily. It clicked then, for Bobby. Curse or no curse, fate hadn’t given them a day off in years. Even if it had started and ended with his forgetfulness, the 118 could never enjoy a perfect day. Bobby took a deep breath.
“Buck.” Bobby looked directly at him, going soft at the doe, hopeful look on his face. “I’m sorry, Hen’s right. Curses could happen to anyone.” He ignored the roll of Eddie’s eyes. “You can come help me clean up.” His ill-timed joke was awarded with half-hearted chuckles.
From the couch he and Denny had hardly moved from, Chris frowned over his phone.
“I’m so glad you guys have made up and all, but seriously? What’s for dinner?” Beside him, Denny’s eyes widened in alarm as his stomach rumbled. Bobby winced at the thought of returning to his kitchen. He’d spent so much money and effort into planning the dinner, he had not even considered an alternative. Luckily, he married a very smart people.
“It’ll have to be a Chinese. What?” Athena shrugged when everyone turned to look at her. “It’s tradition for all the non-Christmas celebrators for a reason.” She smirked victoriously at their murmurs of agreement, though waved Chris off when he offered to order on his phone. She was sure she still had a paper menu for her favourite place buried somewhere in the kitchen. She paused to press a kiss to her husband’s cheek along her way, a silent way of saying he was forgiven for causing such strife.
Athena tried not to look at the mess she knew she’d inevitably end up helping to clean up as she rifled through kitchen drawers to find it, clapping to herself when she did.
“’Thena, while you’re in there I think we could all use a top up,” Maddie called. Athena shouted back her agreement, smiling when Bobby echoed the statement with a request for some good, cold soda. On her way to fulfil his request first, for he was surely the one who needed it most, Athena’s foot slipped slightly on the ground. Looking down, she spied the white powder that had started it all. She sighed and bent to sweep it up, ready to toss it over her own shoulder if needs must, when a floral scent wafted past her fingers before she could complete the motion. Athena brought the powder to her nose to confirm, then scoffed when its fresh scent overwhelmed her. Buck had spilt her washing powder she’d left on the side, her husband too panicked or blinded by his mission to cook to realise during clean up. Athena laughed to herself. Curse indeed.